Kindred Spirits
by Mary Kleinsmith
Summary: You never know who you'll meet.


Kindred Spirits

By Mary Kleinsmith Status: Complete

Spoilers: Vague ones through S10, but nothing specific

Season: 9 or 10 – but only because Jack's in DC

Categories: S/J ship, crossover

Rating: K+ (but only for the visuals it may incite g )

Summary: You never know who you'll meet

Archive: samandjackalways&forever, Jackfic, helio

Disclaimer: I don't own Jack, Sam, or anything Stargate related. I think MGM and the Scifi channel do, but don't quote me on that. I don't own the other show's characters either, but if I told you who did, it would spoil the surprise.

Author's note: Okay, I sat down to work on another story and this one, which had been barely begun, just drew me in. Once finished, I decided to save it for Ship Day. I hope everybody enjoys it.

Posted: July 28th, 2007

If Jack O'Neill had realized for even a fraction of a second just how much bureaucracy was involved in being a General and running a top-secret military complex, he'd never have accepted the position.

What was he doing here? He could be sitting in a rowboat on a peaceful lake in Minnesota without a care in the world, but instead, he was here. Washington DC was an uncomfortable place for him to begin with, ever since an innocent-yet-pushy reporter died because he'd found out their secret, but now, it meant politics – and politicians that he had to deal with.

After two days of meetings at the Pentagon and with the President himself, he'd had about all he could take. Winding down, that's what he needed. His thoughts turned to a certain blue-eyed, blonde Lt. Colonel, only to be shaken off. That wasn't the kind of winding down he could have with her several states away. That is, if they even had that kind of a relationship, which they didn't. Not by his choice, of course.

He needed physical activity.

"Excuse me, Lieutenant," he asked the young man who was sitting behind the Pentagon reception desk. "Is there a gym anywhere in the neighborhood?"

"Sir!" the Lieutenant said, jumping to his feet and coming to attention. "There are multiple workout rooms within Pentagon City, Sir!"

"Easy does it, kid. Since I've been here all day, though, is there anyplace outside the City?"

"Yes, Sir," he responded, relaxing a fraction. "There's a large gymnasium that is available for all government workers just a few miles from here. I can give you directions, Sir."

"Please, proceed," Jack instructed, watching as the officer sat down and began to draw on a sheet of paper.

Minutes later, a crude map in hand, he set off in search of a weight room or, perhaps, a punching bag. He'd certainly felt like physically abusing a few of the bean counters he'd met with today.

Finding the large building was easy enough, and his identification was all that was needed before he was given freedom to use the entire facility. He boxed until his knuckles were sore and bench pressed until his muscles quivered with exertion, but still he did not feel the relief of his frustration the acts normally gave.

Stopping at a large oval running track, he watched as a few men and women ran laps. He longed for the days when that would have been an option, but the facts were that his knees just wouldn't allow it anymore. He wished he had a substitute . . .

A softly illuminated sign was his answer, found as he was roaming the halls investigating.

"Pool."

Almost as good as running and a whole hell of a lot easier on the knees, he found the locker room, hoping that they had suits you could borrow. While he doubted anybody would be swimming this time of the night – it was nearly midnight – the idea of going in the buff wasn't something he wanted to consider in public. Maybe out in his pond in Minnesota, but here, there were . . . people.

The locker room was quiet, and empty, although the lights were on. He found a cabinet with suits, and quickly picked an empty locker and changed. The Speedo was smaller than he'd have expected, having never worn one before, but it was the only choice. He opted for the black one, hoping it was the least revealing, just in case anybody came in.

Grabbing a towel from the pile near the door, he went out into the pool, the smell of the chlorine strong in his nostrils. The sound of splashing also met his entrance, and he paused at the edge of the pool. A single figure in the dim light was swimming laps, a man with a red suit and brown hair. Otherwise, the room was barren, and Jack decided to leave the man to his workout.

Not being a swimmer as a rule, his entrance into the water was a bit more clumsy than he wished, but once he was in, he found his stroke smooth and sure. He emptied his mind of everything and just flowed through the water. There was no SGC, no Goa'uld, no Pentagon, no President or Joint Chiefs, and mostly, there was no woman he was in love with but couldn't have.

He wasn't sure how long he swam, but when he stopped, he was panting in his exertion as he clutched the edge of the pool.

"Whatever the problem is, I know first hand that this will only help temporarily." The deep voice resonated through the water in his ears until he shook his head and they cleared. Looking around, he realized that the other swimmer had ceased his workout and stroked his way to the next lane. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," the man said.

"No problem," Jack responded, taking in the man's face and strong shoulders. Swimming was apparently not a new sport to him. They both began to climb from the pool, reaching for towels and drying off as much as possible before heading towards the locker room.

"I don't remember seeing you around here before," the man said with a hint of suspicion.

"Yeah, I was just transferred to the Pentagon." Before the man could speak, he added, "I know there are gyms in Pentagon City, but I just had to get out. I've never been much for paperwork, and this new post has ten times more than the last one."

The suspicion in the man's eyes grew. "You're military." It wasn't a question, but Jack chose to take it as one.

"Yeah, Air Force. Jack O'Neill." He extended his hand. "Major General, but please don't hold that against me. I ask myself every day what I'm doing here, among these idiots."

The man's eyes grew friendlier. "I often wonder the same thing about myself," he said, taking Jack's hand. "Fox Mulder, although please just call me Mulder. I'm with the FBI. Special Agent."

Thank God he's not with the NID, Jack thought sardonically. It would be just his luck to run into one of those guys here.

"Nice to meet you, Mulder," Jack responded. Somehow, despite his normal wariness, he sensed a kindred spirit in this man. Some would call them mavericks, or disrespectful, but he was just a man trying to get a job done, and felt the same was true of this man.

There was a lull in the conversation as the men chose adjoining stalls in the shower room and turned on the water.

"So what do you do with the Air Force, besides paperwork?" Mulder asked with a smile as he washed himself.

The question stopped Jack dead. What was he to say? The Homeworld Security department was as secret as the SGC itself, so he couldn't tell him the truth. And even if he told him, which would be major trouble, he'd never in a million years believe him. Believe that there were real, live aliens – several species, actually – that visited earth on a regular basis or even lived here, and who they, in turn, often visited.

"Mostly, I just advise the president on military stuff. You know, new aircrafts to build, that kind of thing." He wanted to get attention off himself as soon as possible. "How about you?" Jack stuck his face in the water and rubbed; it was a good excuse for not talking.

"I run the X-Files division."

Jack was instantly taken aback. He knew of the division, but didn't know it was active.

"I see you've heard of us," Mulder continued. "We investigate cases that have gone unsolved because of paranormal or alien involvement."

"Aliens as in foreigners?" Jack asked, knowing that wasn't the case. But a regular person would make the assumption, and he felt he had to play the roll.

"No, aliens as in life from other planets. You don't believe in that sort of thing?"

Jack smiled, shaking his head. "You'd be surprised what I believe," he replied. "So what are you doing here in the middle of the night, Mulder?"

"Insomnia and woman problems," the agent said openly.

"Well, I'm only too familiar with the latter, but my problem is more with people letting me sleep rather than being able to."

"Oh, really?" Mulder said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah," Jack responded. "It's murder when you're indispensable," he chuckled.

"I'm afraid, in my case, most people would just rather see me gone," Mulder responded. "All except . . ."

"Is this where the woman in question comes in?"

"You could say that. We work together, and over the years . . ."

Jack could see how the man's situation could be similar to his own. "You can't imagine your life without her," he stated. "You think about her all the time, to distraction."

"Sounds like you know the feeling."

"You could say that," Jack said, echoing Mulder's words back at him. The water was shut off and the men, towels wrapped around their waists, moved to the lockers and began to dress. "So why don't you go and get her? The FBI doesn't have any damn frat regs."

"So that's the problem with you and your lady, huh? The frat regs?" Jack knew he was evading, but let it go for the moment.

"She was my 2IC at my last post. And now that I'm here, I'm still in her chain of command. So I know why I'm not with her. What's your excuse?"

"You haven't got the time to hear my pitiful tale of woe. Let's just say that she's too good for me, and I know it."

"And you don't think that's the case with me? Mulder, I've been around a lot longer than you have, and I'll let you in on a secret: they're all too good for us. Which is why, if they're willing to have us, we have to accept that and take what we can get. So is she willing to have you?"

"I don't know," Mulder said thoughtfully. "We've never really talked about it. . . ."

"Okay, now this really is starting to sound familiar. So that's why you're here, swimming laps at one o'clock in the morning?"

"No, I'm here, swimming laps at one o'clock in the morning because we had a fight and I couldn't sleep."

"A fight about you and her?"

"No, a fight about a case. See, she's not just any woman – she's my partner. And it's stupid, too, because it wasn't even anything important. It's just . . . we've never seen things from the same viewpoint from the start, and I guess this hit a little too close to home. She's all science and logic and 'it can't be because it can't be proven in a lab.' It got a little ugly; I accused her of never giving me the benefit of the doubt. I don't know why I was so irritated."

"Sexual tension, Mulder. It makes every disagreement seem bigger than it is. Now, take some advice from an old soldier: it doesn't matter if it's the middle of the night. Go to her place right now, make up with her, and tell her what you're feeling."

"Is this a case of the pot calling the kettle black, Jack?"

"There's still the regs. And other things."

"Other things like…?"

"She's too much for me."

"Too much what?"

"Too much everything. She's too smart, too pretty, too young, too nice. She has an IQ over 200, she's a theoretical astrophysicist, and every man who meets her falls in love with her. She's the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

Mulder chuckled. "Boy, have you got it bad, Pot."

"I could say the same about you, Kettle. So with all that, why would she want me?"

"If I can't answer that question for myself, what makes you think I can answer it for you? We just have to accept that they do. As for the regs, you're not her immediate superior anymore, right?"

"Right. Not to mention that she's still back in Colorado Springs, hundreds of miles away."

"So? You're in the air force and you can't figure out how to get on a plane?" Mulder shook his head. "I'm not buying it, Jack. If she's not directly under your command, how can you get into trouble?"

"I really don't know, and we've never really talked about our relationship. But the last thing we need is to end up court martialed."

"I can't see that happening. So how about taking a bit of your own medicine?" Mulder tossed his wet towel into the laundry, hefting his gym bag. "And we'll let each other know how it goes?"

Jack wondered if this would be one of those situations where, after this, they never heard from each other again, but the swim – and the talk – had helped. "Sounds like a plan. And for a change, I think I really can go home and get some sleep." Jack hefted his own gym bag. They walked in silence, separating in the parking lot.

"See ya, Mulder. Good luck," Jack said as he made way to his truck.

"Same to you, Jack," Mulder replied, getting into his own government-issue sedan.

Six months later:

Jack O'Neill looked up from his episode of The Simpsons as he heard the apartment door open. "That you, Sam?"

The blonde woman smiled, wondering who else he thought it would be. "Yeah, sorry my flight was delayed. The transport I hitched a ride on had some last-minute equipment problems."

Jack got up and wrapped his arms around Sam Carter, pecking her on the lips. "I'm just glad you're here."

She kissed him back, long and hard, taking his breath away. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too. You'd think they could make special allowances for a Lt. Colonel."

"Jack," she laughed. "Do you know how many Lt. Colonels there are in the Air Force? It's not all that special."

"Well, this one is," he corrected, just holding her for a moment. When he released her, her eyes were closed and she looked content. Happy.

"Hey, you look great, did I tell you that?"

"Not today, no, you haven't. How about putting my laptop in the den while I get changed. I can't wait to get out of this uniform." Jack noted she'd worn her dress blues; she was gorgeous in them, but he knew from experience that they weren't the most comfortable clothes in the world.

"Sounds good. Hey, guess who I ran into at the office the other day?"

"Who?"

"One of your many admirers from the past. And I'll admit, when he asked, I took great pleasure in explaining to him that you were not available."

"He asked? Who was it?" Sam's laugh could be heard coming from their bedroom.

"Joe Faxton. I think he was quite depressed at the news, actually."

"Aw, poor guy."

"Poor guy nothing. If I hadn't finally got out of my own way and insisted we talk, you might be married to him instead of me!"

She emerged from the bedroom in short shorts and a tank that made her look sexy as hell. "Have I ever told you what a great idea eloping was? Some day, we'll have to tell the world."

"When that some day comes, I intend to marry you properly. Church, priest, white dress, invitations, the works," Jack replied.

"Speaking of mail, I picked it up on the way in. Now where did I put it?" She glanced around, finally spying the small stack on the end table. "One is addressed only to you." Sam sorted through the stack and handed him an extraordinarily thick envelope.

Tearing it open, Jack pulled out the contents.

You are cordially invited to witness

the marriage of

Fox William Mulder

to

Dana Katherine Scully

A post-it note was stuck to the front of the invitation with a hand-written message: Pot, thanks for the nudge. Kettle.

Sam looked over his shoulder, to read the parchment. "Who is Fox Mulder? And what's all this Pot and Kettle stuff?"

Jack remembered the man only too well, although he hadn't spoken to him since that day.

"Oh, just a kindred spirit," he said, turning to take her in his arms again. "I'll tell you about it all later. Right now, we have a lot of lost time for which to make up."

And taking her into his arms, he did.

The End.


End file.
